By Way of Miracle · Improvement Era

By Way of Miracle. A Common Sense Story with a Christmas Ending. BY JOSEPHINE SPENCER. Haskins turned from his sixth inventory of the shelves oppo- site, and explored the three-by-six show-case under his elbow. There was the assortment familiar to him from his round of many country towns: cards of cheap china buttons, boxes of Clark's 0. N. T., and strips of glazed pasteboard filled with hooks-and- eyes,mingled indiscriminately with pocket-knives, bottles of cheap perfume, gaudy vases and other "fancy staples." He traced, with forced attention, the design on a pair of gingerbread-yellow baby shoes, stitched with white cotton and finished with rosettes of cot- ton baby-ribbon . These, and the box of plaid pen-holders, began strangely to mix themselves together. Haskins caught himself suddenly, and sat up with a start. The narrow doorway had darkened, and the little girl who had sat, with placid perseverance, on her camp-stool back by the delaine counter, "minding store," came forward and measured out a half- pound of white beans for her customer — the first, Haskins remem- bered, in the hour he had waited for Brookes to come back. The woman went out, and Haskins watched her taking her way across the dusty road, shielding her head with her apron from the blazing sun. She disappeared in a dwelling house adjoining the blacksmith shop opposite, from whence came the sounds of horses' hoofs stamping, and the clamp of iron on the smith's forge. A small boy came outside of the produce store next door, and stood with eager face watching the antics of the unmanage- able horse. Little things stood for excitement in Pilute.

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 151 The shop-girl, a child of thirteen years, disappeared through the little passage way leading into the family living rooms, and Haskins went back into the cooler dimness and sat down on the camp-stool she had left vacant, leaning his head back against the folds of delaine on the counter. A bee buzzed through the open doorway, circled the arc of light about it, and whizzed out. A wagon clattered down the wide street outside, diverting the small boy's attention for a space from the quadruped in the smithy. A blue fly hummed angrily from the tight-lidded ham-screen, and dabbed blindly into a stream of sticky liquid pasted on the molasses- keg. Presently the mouse, which had peeped from a tiny opening in the counter behind Haskins, disappeared nimbly, at sound of footsteps at the front door. "Hullo, Haskins! Brookes turned up yet?" Haskins rubbed his eyes. "Nope. They think maybe he will stay over till tomorrow. A cattle deal on, I understand." "If that's right, I'm going to clear out! Another day in this berg will put me into a permanent doze. Come on, Haskins — we can make the town on our way back — better luck, too, maybe." "Can't afford to pull out now. I've a bill of goods all but settled for." "Huh! Thought you just told me the proprietor was out of town." "Sure! But the daughter's the firm in this shop. She looks over samples and selects goods, and father 0 K's her choice and signs checks." "Daughter?" said the other, brightening. He was plump, and smooth-shaven, with a suspicious film of white on his pinkish- brown cheeks. "No go, Peters," said Haskins, feebly grinning. "Little, faded-out old maid— forty or nearby, I reckon. Smart, though, as steel tacks. Runs the store— and the family, too, I imagine, without their knowing it. Father thinks she's just women-folks— and I guess she thinks so, too. She's business, though, all right!" "Then why in—" "Happened to get my chance while you were over at Binkley's. She's in there, now, nursing a sick child."

152 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Wonder if I'd better ask to see her?" Haskins pointed to a row of shelves. "See those two jars? That's their limit of stock in your lines." "Has been, you mean. I'm going to fill that empty shelf with choice greens and Oolongs, and breakfast teas, together with mixed Mochas and Javas— before the other drummers arrive." "It isn't a question of competition, Peters. It's just that you are in the wrong town." "Speak English, Haskins — and out loud. I'm no linguist nor mind-reader." "It's what the other tea specialists call a 'Word of Wisdom' town. Two-thirds of the population cut out coffee and other stimulants — from tea, to toddy and tobacco." Peters looked intelligent. "Dry!" he ejaculated. "Not quite," prompted Haskins. "There's a saloon down street kept specially for travelers." Peters looked conscious, then frowned. "Don't spring puzzles a day like this, Haskins. The ther- mometer— ' ' "It's simple as the alphabet. They leave stimulants alone because they think it keeps them healthy." "Well, as far as liquor is concerned, they may be right; but tea and coffee—" "Remember the rules, back there in the Battle Creek Sani- tarium, when you laid up for repairs? Made you cut out tea and coffee there — you remember — and gave you scientific reasons for doing it." "Yes; but, as you say, I was there for repairs. Healthy people don't need a regime." "The 'Mormons' claim we wouldn't need repairs if we cut out all stimulants," explained Haskins. "The Battle Creek people and a lot of other scientists, you know, say the same thing. Well, the 'Mormons' claim they had that same knowledge seventy or eighty years ago, by revelation, which the scientists are learning now by research and experiment." "You mean to tell me no 'Mormon' drinks tea or coffee?" "A lot of them do both; but the straight 'Mormon' — the one

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 15 who lives his religion— will never touch either. It is a principle with them, known as the 'Word of Wisdom;' and the manor woman who indulges in stimulants is breaking a rule of 'Mormon' doctrine." "Moses in Egypt!" said Peters, staring helplessly. "It's a blooming poor prospect for a tea specialist! I've heard of temper- ance towns— but tea and coffee! I might as well skip the state, if the majority of its people look at it that way. All the other towns carry a jar apiece, Haskins!" "The larger ones carry full lines, I imagine. Population about evenly divided. Besides, as I said before, all 'Mormons' don't keep the 'Word of Wisdom.' It's a matter of individual conscience —not compulsion. A lot more are keeping it since the Battle Creek people have proved the Lord's word to be scien- tifically correct." "I guess Pilute is pretty much converted, if that's all its chief grocery needs to keep in stock." Peters looked disconsolately at the two samples on the shelf, and stood up. "It's so-long for me, Haskins. I might as well make the 4:30 train." Haskins rose with a prolonged yawn. "Wait a minute — I'll escort you to the depot. Martyr- stunt, too — this June sun is as hot as August." Esther Brookes came from the little passage-way, behind the cheese-crate, and looked after the two men lounging down the road. Her high brow was drawn in a frown, which made three distinct wrinkles across its surface, and the half shut lids through which she looked, made her eyes seem glazed and small. In the warm stillness the footsteps of the two men sounded distinctly down the board walk to the depot. Esther walked back to the stool and sat down. Her back ached, and she realized for the first time today that she was tired. For two hours past she had alternated hot vinegar poultices on the baby's back, with "spells" of hard rubbing, and it had left her weak-kneed and aching. She felt almost as old as the drummer had said she was. "Forty!" and "little and faded out!" Well, the last might be true, but the first!— she would like them both to

154 IMPROVEMENT ERA. know what a joke that was — how many years between her and Haskins' guess. It did not matter much, though. Life would go on much the same in those unexperienced years. Perhaps she was really old now, in a way, as she would be then. For all that she would like Haskins to know. She had always liked him rather, because her father had said, when Haskins made Pilute before, that he was a ''clean man;" and because Effie Phillips, who had gotten her "name up" for flirting with drummers, had said once that "Haskins must be dead struck on his wife — or somebody at home — for he wouldn't flirt with a girl for a farm." Effie's testimony, in its way, was a tribute to her father's judgment, and had made Esther feel safe in being companionable with the "drummer." There was a morbid dread in her of seem- ing to be "setting her cap" for any one; and she had learned, from the narrow judgment of others, to repress her own instinct for sociability, lest she earn an unjust reputation as "running after a beau." She would like Haskins to know, though, about that funny mistake of his. It was a world-old feminine impulse stirring in her, under a consciousness heaped with debris of vinegar-kegs and bolts of delaine. Forty? Not yet! What did it matter, though, after all? She would go on just the same in those years between, alternating pint and quart measures at the molasses and vinegar kegs, and selling extra orders of perfume and glass vases at Christmas time. No one would know or care if she were forty or fourteen, so long as the jugs and scales measured even weight, and her father's books showed the year's balance on the right side. She laid it to the pain in her side— that sudden rush of sick revulsion. How long she had been at it— the storekeeping— and all the rest! She must have measured rivers of vinegar in the years she had been at the task— and miles of calico and delaine. There would be endless streams and miles yet to put into endless jugs, and upon ever-multiplying backs. If she could only go away from it all for a week or a month ! The desire was novel with Esther. Once she had gone with father and the rest of the family for a week's stay in the canyon. They had camped out, and Esther's memory of the experience

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 155 was a jumble of fretful children, uncomfortable cots under close tents, bugs, mosquitoes— and a brooding fear of snakes. It had been a wild relief to get back to the sane comfort of clean beds, and tablecloths and antless food, and she had never indulged a desire since to renew her holiday. That there might be brighter offerings in the tabooed word did not occur to her. Life in Pilute moved in even grooves. Esther rose and went to the rear of the store where a group of cheap mirrors hung on the wall. Taking one down she wiped the dust from the surface, and studied her reflection. "Little and faded out!" It was not an unapt description, she told herself — swallowing a lump in her throat — and one could hardly be blamed for mistaking her age. Her thick red hair, drawn back severely from a too high brow, and brought low in her neck in a big "bob," made her look matronly, while the dull, indigo hues of her cheap print gown brought out all the sallow tones in her thin face. She had always dressed in indigos, for economy's sake. The color wore well, and did not show stains. Once she had spoken for a bright challis that had come into stock, a single dress pattern, and some- thing in her had yearned for this gay gown, which could not be duplicated — at least in Pilute. She had kept it for best, never putting it on without torment, for all her bright anticipation in its enjoyment — for the majenta in its groundwork had wrought worse havoc with her dull skin and red hair than even the indigos, and though she wore it to its finish, with Indian stoicism, pain had accompanied the ordeal — that had quite shut out further ambition for personal adornment. As with her one holiday, she did not sense that exquisite gradations of hue — as of happiness — lay between. She hung the mirror back on the wall and sank, with a tired listlessness, on the camp stool. Suddenly, with the physical relax- ation, something within her gave way. With her head against the delaines she sat and sobbed without restraint. Haskins walked up the board walk from the station, his hat held high above his perspiring forehead. He stopped at the nar- row street leading to the Pilute "hotel," but turned aside at thought of the close little room under the eaves, and the still less inviting parlor, with its noisy children and ceaseless tang of the piano. The Brookes' grocery was an idyllic spot in comparison

156 IMPROVEMENT ERA. to either, and he went gratefully indoors, willing to enjoy the luxury of a camp-stool till definite word came of the proprietor. He did not see Esther's stealthy flight to the telephone as he walked back, but caught a half view of her as she stood behind the cheese-crate. Her cheek, visible to Haskins, was flushed and stained, and the voice that came audibly, to him was queerly tremu- lous. She was talking into the mouthpiece, but the receiver, which was invisible to Haskins, hung on its hook. "No, Ellen," came Esther's voice, in a suspiciously high- pitched tone, "you are — you are — fooled about — my age. I really — am not forty. I've got several years yet to reach that mark — even if — " There was a lull, following a distinct break in Esther's voice. Haskins met the gaze she turned on him rather unsteadily. Could she have heard his idle words? But no — the face she turned on him, though visibly disturbed by recent distress, was not unfriendly. She walked over and met his eyes with the frank gaze he had before noted and liked. "I'm sorry Pa is so long, Mr. Haskins; but it's about sure he'll sign for that bill of goods — and if you'd like to make Banville with your friend, and call here on your way back, it will be just the same. I — we won't let anybody else in on your chance." "Thank you — thanks!" said Haskins, a little embarrassed. Her voice, usually so cool, and prim and business-like, seemed altogether strange with that childish tremor, and he felt almost as if some show of sympathy were needed. She turned into the little passage- way directly, however, and Haskins, with distinct relief at his easy task and hasty departure, ran to try for the luckily delayed train. Amos Brookes came home that night in jubilant spirits. "I'm a clear five thousand to the good on the cattle deal," he said, "and with that and the year's store profits, I can afford to branch out a little in the business. When that dry- goods drummer comes along from Salt Lake, I guess I'll let him put me in a line of fancy silks. There's no need of our towns- people putting their money into the city stores at Conference time, if they can find just as good at home."

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 157 "It will be a heap safer to select from the city stores for the stock, father," said Esther rather eagerly. "If I could go up myself, I could look around and get the pick of half a dozen firms, instead of from just one line of samples." Amos looked at her, and then acquiesced, as usual, with Esther's judgment. "I don't know but that you're right. You can stay with Aunt Ellen while you're up there; she's been asking for a long while to have you come up for a visit."

"I want you to stay over tomorrow, dear, and see the play at the theatre. They say it's real laughable. That's about the only kind I care for nowadays — something to wipe out sad memories. When our lives get filled up with real cares, we need something opposite for our recreation. The play? It's something about — 'Aunt Mary' — a long word, I can't recall it. We'll go and have a good laugh, if there's one in it." Thev had seats in the front row of the family circle, and Esther looked down at the boxes, and stalls and parquet seats filled with daintily-dressed young girls, with a sensation as of being in a different world. Music and light, and a new realm of young girlhood in that picture — a world, if eye-evidence might be trusted, filled with light hearts and happiness. Esther had hardly sensed the half -meaning of that word; she had her first dim defini- tion of it in the vision of this seemingly care-free humanity. "The Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary." She could not pro- nounce the long name, even; but its meaning spelled itself out in the successive acts. Prim, old-fashioned Aunt Mary, set in grooves of narrow living, was a changed being under influences of cheer, pleasure and care-freeness. Esther's breath came in queer, fierce little gasps. What if something like that came into her life — could anything"rejuvenate" her— "little faded old maid!" She began to lose sentences and points in the play, in mental pictures which had taken hold of her. "Aunt Mary,"— a real entity to her— became Esther Brookes in fancy. If change of scene and thought could make one young and bright and happy— but it was all a play— that other— she urged, waking up regretfully from

158 IMPROVEMENT ERA. her dreams. Nothing like that could happen in real life. Not that she wanted to do the lively and exaggerated things that "Aunt Mary" stood for — but just to have relief from the dull home tasks she had known so long! That night she crept into her aunt's bedroom, and said some- thing in a choked voice. "Stay?" cried Aunt Ellen. "Why indeed you shall, child! I've asked Amos again and again to let you come up and spend a year or so with me. It never seemed right to me that you should stay down there and take the burden of that store and house on your shoulders. I saw just how it was the time I spent Thanks- giving down there. You needn't do a thing, dear. I'll just write to Amos and tell him I'm going to keep you up here to live with me for awhile — and I'll tell him to send a big enough check out of that last big cattle deal of his to give you a right happy time. You go to sleep, now, Honey, and I'll fix it. Amos is as good as gold, only he needs to have his eyes opened to the fact that there's something more in the world to think of than just getting and saving."

Haskins, sitting with Peters on one of the benches at the Pavilion, watched the dancers with indifferent interest, 3ave as an unusually awkward pair wakened an instant's laughable attention. Then, suddenly, his eyes fastened on a trim figure whirling: about the big hall. It was simply, but stylishly garbed, in black and white dotted muslin, with bows of black velvet ribbon here and there, making what Haskins called a "classy" gown. It was not this, though, which held him. A remembered visage, surely, yet unfamiliar, too; a bright, rose-cheeked face, with wavy hair of the red that goes with certain peach-bloom complexions. Where had he seen it? He appealed to Peters, but that crony answered after his wont: "Don't think I've seen her before— I usually know the location of a pretty girl. Mighty fine looker, wherever she belongs!" A few moments later they strolled around the pavilion to go to the restaurant, and met a little group who had just left the dancing floor.

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 159 "How do you do, Mr. Haskins?" A hand was outstretched, and Haskins, whose unconsciously searching gaze had brought the recognition, still stared, per- plexed, at the face raised in frank friendliness to his. "Pardon me, Miss — Miss — " "I'm Amos Brookes' daughter, down at Pilute," she smiled. "I selected some goods from you about a year ago, you know." Haskins stared helplessly. This trim, bright looking little creature the faded, frowsy, old-maidish girl, in her soiled gown, who had surprised him with her shrewd business interest and good sense! He murmured a few words stumblingly before another partner claimed her— and then was pulled away by Peters, who spoke with rather a resentful tone. "I half guessed you had something up your sleeve down there in Pilute/' he said. "Thought it was strange doings for a girl to be head of that concern down there. Wonder if she hadn't been in the way if I couldn't have sold a sample or two of tea and coffee? 'Word of Wisdom,' eh? Well, I guess you thought the word you gave me down there was wisdom, sure enough! Piggish, I call it, though." Haskins laughed shortly. If Peters had only seen her then! He went back again presently, and after a short search sought her out. He had not danced for five years — Constance's death had changed everything for him. He had felt almost like an old man — too old and too sad to think of pleasure in any form. Now — well, he owed something to that clever girl — an apology of some kind for his, sarcastic appreciation of her plain ugliness — whether she had overheard or not. Besides, he wanted to make sure. That dwarfed little girl down in Pilute— it savored of the uncanny! He found himself surprisingly light on his feet, for a man who had abjured dancing for all time. Was it the music, or the girl with her light touch and step that made him feel its sense? She could certainly dance — that girl! Haskins was sorry when the two-step came to an end. He did not essay to intro- duce Peters, much to that gallant's wrath, but surrendered her to the young man who came up claiming the coming waltz. She was

160 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . with the Mutual Improvement Association she had told him, and this repeated to Peters, who was unused to the local atmosphere, had a somewhat repressive effect. "If it's a Y. W. C. A. proposition, I guess I'll have to give in. But it's another sample of your porcine proclivities, Haskins — and I'll be on guard with you after this. The next time you try to put me off with an old maid story, 1 11 stay on the premises till I've proved if it's a personal 'Word of Wisdom' or a relig- ious one that makes you shy on companionship." Haskins went home, but not to sleep. He had never seen eyes that had appealed to him so much since Constance's. Frank, yet a little wistful — and that deep, dark gray he had always liked. Amos Brooke's daughter — and Pilute! His mother kept house for him in a pretty bungalow he had built when he was first married, and she came to the door pres- ently, wakened by the light from his transom. "What is it, Don, dear? Not in trouble, I hope?" "Trouble, mother? Not a bit. I've spent the first bright hours tonight I've known in five years!" "Thank heaven for that, dear! I've prayed night and day that something might come into your life to brighten it. I hope it may last forever!" Forever? Haskins lay awake a long time and thought. The long, warm summer was nearing its close. It was nearly midnight as Haskins came up the walk, but his mother met him on the front porch. The moon made it bright almost as daylight, and she saw the tense, bitter look in her son's face. "What is it, Don?" The voice was quiet, but insistent, and Don, as was his wont, answered its plea. "What 1 might have expe:ted, mother. I simply made the mistake of thinking her broad enough to let love take the place of creed — or at least to let me within the pale of her charity." He sat down on the step, beside her chair which sat near. "You mustn't call it narrow, dear— her devotion to her religion. Remember she has been brought up in it— it is meat and drink to her. Constituted as she is, to deprive her of it would

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 161 be like taking away air, food, water. She would shrivel up and fade out." "I'm not asking her to give up anything, mother. I told her she could live her life, I mine." "But with Esther, her life would be yours, and yours hers. Don't you see the daily jar and fret for her— that freedom you would wish? For her, with her convictions, the "apart" plan would mean torment." "She tried t:> make me see it; but I told her, finally, she prob- ably would get enough satisfaction out of her self -righteousness to fill her life, even if nothing more came into it." "Don!" "Oh, I'm sick of it, mother— the cant, and narrowness that won't make allowances for a mere differing viewpoint." "But that difference to her, Don, means a matter of eternal moment. You must try and be broad enough to see her side, and make the allowance you ask for your own views." "Well, we won't waste time going over the old ground. I've said goodby to Esther — forever!" "Don!" "That little girl seemed to fill a void that has never been filled before. I mistook her character, that's all." "Then she does not — " "Oh, she confessed to caring for me — it's that which hurts: I can't talk about it, mother — it brings back things I've been try- ing for her sake to crowd out of my mind. But there — it's all useless, and besides, it's after midnight. Time for you to be asleep."

Esther sat alone in the little tower, watching purple shadows play on the lake islands, and the big green waves race in from the west. The couple outside on the bench had not noted her, and it was only when her own name came to her that her attention reverted to them. "Esther Brookes? Oh, I guess it's all settled between her and Earl Jamison. They are together almost always now. Don Haskins? Yes, for a while; but he*s too much of an outsider for a girl like Esther to consider seriously. She is straight 'Mormon'

162 v IMPROVEMENT ERA. all through. Yes, his parents are. Don was sidetracked — by chance, I've always said — sometime in his boyhood. Like all healthy youngsters, Don liked pranks. One of them went a little too far, and a ward official, in the little country town where he then lived, made the mistake of punishing him in a way strict enough to have fitted a capital crime. Denounced the lad by name in his own presence and his parent's, in open meeting; predicted the gallows, and called him a disgrace to the Church. Don has never looked inside of a meetinghouse since. Every year added weight to his grievance. The country ward and its concave official became a symbol in his mind of the whole Church. His sense of injustice kept him from seeing that the official was only one of a big body which held natures differing from each other as the suns differ from the stars. He began to associate with outsiders — the kind that take care to nurse his kind of a grievance. In that way he has just drifted away. I've always said if it had not been for the unwise 'stunt' of that country counselor, Don would have been in the Church today, and, moreover, a shining light in it." The conversation changed, and the couple, after a moment, went away. The clouds that had been lying low in the eastern sky drifted in gigantic pillars to the horizon, and the wind which had been in the west shifted, as if seeking support from the great, moving mass. It made a circular whirlwind of the little tower, and Esther made her way down stairs to seek a more peaceful spot. The same wind which had driven Esther from her aerie, brought Haskins from the city. It had blown there with a gusto in accord with his own thoughts, and he had taken the train for Saltair to mingle his own mood with the elements, which here had double play in air and wave. He had expected the dark day to keep people away from the resort, but a large crowd had been drawn by advertisement of the evening's fireworks. The waves rolled almost even with the pavilion floor, and after a brief fight with them, Haskins, with other bathers, retired. Brine as a shower, or inward draught, is not alluring. Sheltered in a nook from the strong east wind, Haskins watched the angry lake and sky. Someone beside him spoke.

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 163 "There's Ebler taking his load of fireworks out to the plat- form, to set for tonight." "Risky, in this high wind." "Oh, a raft's all right. Can't capsize, you know." "Would'nt care. to take chances, myself. By George! There's a girl on that raft— see, behind the pile of fireworks." "Guess it's Miss Brookes. She's a distant relative of Ebler's. I've seen her ride out with him before." Haskins looked. Esther's face, turned westward, caught the reflection of the lurid sun, now low in the sky. She was watch- ing the green waves roll away in front of the raft, with genuine enjoyment. "She's brave, all right!" Yes, Haskins knew that. He had seen her courage mani- fested in many ways during his year's courtship. If only it had been along other lines! It was a struggle out there with the raft. It took the full strength of the two men to row it to the platform, a hundred yards away from the pavilion. One of them climbed, finally, on to its floor, and the other tried to throw him a rope for the raft's moorings. Just then a long, green wave that had rolled in from afar, lifted the frail craft and dashed it against the uprights. There was a crash, and a roar, and then from the little raft came a burst of flame, spitting, leaping and writhing like venomous snakes. The man on the raft jumped, caught the edge of the platform, and hung, till Ebler's hand drew him to safety; but the impact of his leap had been tragical to the raft. Pushed from the platform, and caught by the racing waves, it drifted away, its surface a wall of spurting fire. Between the flashes, they saw the slender form of the girl, upright and motionless, between the lurid panels of crimson fire and sky. Warning voices called Haskins back, but the oars — already in his han is — soon took him beyond their sound. He sensed only one thing— the moving thing of flame drifting to the horizon, and the silhouette of the slender form outlined in the double glow. The great waves aided him, lifting his boat, and bearing it swiftly in their mad race. But the raft raced, too, and Haskins' heart was heavy with deadly fear. What chance for her

164 IMPROVEMENT ERA. holding out, with the foothold beneath her lapped by that unquenchable flame! Speeding along, he watched the dark outline of her form hungrily. Any moment she might be tempted to plunge into the seething brine. No hope for her, once this should happen! On and on he sped, his oars serving to guide and even to impel the boat. It seemed to him that the raft before him grew dimmer — was it receding, then, so much swifter than he chased — or was it that the flames were dying down? If that were true, it meant destruction of the raft — nothing but that. Still, as he looked, he fancied there still stood against the lurid sky that slender silhouette. His stroke, trained in his Ann Arbor days, took him near. The raft showed now a low-lying bar of flame there in the distance, but the form— the form had vanished! Hask- ins groaned, then tore like a madman at the oars. It was not till he had rounded the dwindling bar of flame that he saw her — her hands grasping the last of the uncharred poles of the raft. "I — 1 must have second sight, or something," she whispered, with a smile as she saw him. "Something seemed to tell me — long ago— it — it was you!" They landed in a bit of bay, on the shore, and Haskins helped her wring the soaked skirts before putting her in a shel- tered niche in the cliff. They sat silent while watching the play of waves, and fading glare of gold along their crests. "I can't think what I've done to deserve this chance," said Esther at last. "I thought out there, before I saw the boat, that it was all over, and that vou would ne/er know. That seemed harder to me than — than what seemed to be coming." Don turned to look at her white face. "You mustn't speak in riddles, now — I was never clever nor patient." She laid her hand on his. "The riddles are all ended, Don. I couldn't sense my way before, but today something has happened to open my eyes. If my life can be anything to you, I want you to take it." Don's face hardened. "You mean that I am to take it in pay for this? I am not a usurer." "It is others who have been that. They took heavy toll from

BY WAY OF MIRACLE. 165 you,fpoor Don— it is that I want you to let me make up for." "Esther!" said Don. "I would like to commence tomorrow, or even today, if I might; but there are other things— Aunt Ellen, you know, and the trip. She has set her heart on it, that I should go with her, and I owe her too much to disappoint her wish. When we come back — " "You will marry me, Esther, freely, without reserve?" "I can get my trousseau ready, you know, while I am away. We will be back in December, and then — " But the rest was smothered in the dusk.

The Haskins bungalow was bright with evergreen and holly, wreathed in window and porch, on mantle and picture frame. "Can't think what you are setting up a Christmas tree for," said Janet Haskins' neighbor, looking in at late afternoon. "Esther's family will be here to celebrate with us, you know. We felt it would be just the thing since there was no wedding." "Seemed kind of funny to me, her wanting to go to that for- saken little town for the honeymoon." "It's her home, you know, and she met Don there." "Yes, but the mystery is where they would put company in that little back shanty thsy live in. It's only a wing of the store, you know." "Why, dear soul! Amos built a fine new house there this summer, in the big lot adjoining the shop." "Amos Brookes! I'd have to see it — roof to cellar — to believe. Of all the close-fisted — " "He has wakened from that nightmare. Esther has made him see that the good of money is its right use, and that if it does not goto enrich his own and his family's and his neighbor's living, it might as well lay unsought in the mine or sea. It is a hard les- son for some of us to learn— that right use of the means we are blest with— that happy medium between wastefulness and useful- ness. That last word means so much." "Well, it seems most like a miracle to think of Amos — but my! when you think of your Don going into the temple to be mar- ried—it looks like Esther could do all kinds of miracles herself."

166 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Only the miracles that human love and trust can always do. It's just the old story of patience and charity put to actual test. I always felt that once some new influence came into Don's life, to turn his thought from the old bitter channels, he would see the truth." "Well, it has seemed to make him happy — for if ever a man was made over new, it is Don — since he was engaged to Esther. I never liked his being in the drummer business. It takes a man away from home too much." "Yes, but thank heaven that's over, too. It was a desperate remedy for a desperate condition of mind and of finance, after Con- stance died, you know. Now he's in business, and life has begun over — ah, there they come!" "That's right, Mrs. HasHns, you go out and meet them, and I'll baste that turkey, and take out those mince pies. I declare — if that ain't Amos' second daughter —most growed up, I'll be bound — for all her looking so little and faded out." "She's just starved, Ellen. We are going to have her up here for awhile after the holidays. Esther wants her to have a change. You know there is not much to keep young folks interested in a country store, and Esther — " "Merry Christmas, mother!" It was Don and Esther's voices together; and in a moment she was in a co-operative hug which took her breath. "I was just saying, Esther," said Ellen, "that your sister looks now just as you did when — " "When I met my fate," said Esther, turning to Don with a queer smile. "Little, faded, and forty." Don took her hand. "You heard, that day, little girl," he said soberly. "To think that I could hurt you!" "Hurt!" echoed Esther, indignantly. "It changed my whole life — made me realize that I cared for the things I have won. It has been like a miracle!" "A double one!" said Don. "There's a Trismas tree!" piped one of the tiny Brookeses, who came trooping in. "A Merry Christmas!" chimed the older ones from the door- way. And so the new life began. (the end.)